


Eye of the beholder

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Insecure Clint, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Natasha Knows Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His doubts are confirmed a moment later when a tender smile graces Phil's mouth, and he murmurs, "M'hero."</i>
</p><p>Phil is injured on a mission, and refuses to be treated without his "hero" near him, much to Clint's chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031800) by [msraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven). 



Clint was right there.

Phil got hit, and Clint couldn't help.

Clint couldn't help even though _he was right there_.

He replays the memory over and over in the lifeless waiting room, Nat's hand the only thing keeping him anchored bar his own heartbeat. Phil had stepped out of the S.H.I.E.L.D van, moving so as to better monitor their movements, coordinating with Steve, and HYDRA decided that it was time to break out their experimental tech and brought down a building right on top of him.

Clint can still see the play of light across Phil's too-blue eyes as he turned, the shock and then blank acceptance as he took in the building collapsing on top of him, but despite it all, Clint doesn't think he imagined the quick glance Phil had shot his way, mouth quirked sadly as if to convey a silent apology.

Sure, Phil is kind, and patient, and understanding, but Phil doesn't really involve himself with people like Clint. Or at least, Clint didn't think he did, until he started letting Clint crash in his office after particularly stressful ops, the soft taps of his fingers on the keyboard a lulling melody.

Clint has already come to peace with receiving Phil's friendship and no more, but it doesn't help ease the pain when one of the assistant doctors bursts into the room. "He's asking for his hero," she blurts out, and Tony pushes Steve up to his feet. Clint's heart sinks in his chest, because, although he'd deny it if asked, maybe he was hoping Phil would ask for him, for Clint. Hoping just a little.

Nat's hand tightens in his grip, and Clint sends an inquisitive glance her way, noting the unexpected breath she takes, as if to intervene. After a moment passes, she meets Clint's eyes with a soft smirk, settling back down in her chair, and Clint can read the calm smugness in her movements because he's Hawkeye and Hawkeye sees everything. He resolves to ask her for the reason after the dull ache in his chest eases.

When a pair of red boot-clad feet hesitantly stop in front of him, Clint looks upwards, unable to stop his puzzled frown. He's greeted by Steve, brow furrowed in bemusement. "He's asking for you, Clint," Steve explains, tentative, and Clint's first instinct is to plaster on a smile and laugh along as always, because it has to be a joke.

Clint isn't Phil's hero. Sometimes he doesn't even feel like a hero.

Then he processes the carefully hidden anxiety lurking in Steve's eyes, the worry tightening his mouth, paying attention the Captain's ever-so-slightly dejected demeanor, and only manages to stutter out a weak, "What, me?" before Steve extends his hand.

"Go, Птичка." Nat urges, eyes twinkling with a cryptic smile, a rare hint of fondness coloring her words. "He needs you to be there with him."

Clint looks at Nat, because even though he knows she can lie proficiently enough to give Fury a run (or five) for his money, she isn't lying now. Her words, combined with Steve's proffered hand, find him shepherded dazedly across the hallway into a harshly white room.

On the bed is something that would appear, to most people, as a lump of tubing at first glance, but Clint's life hinges on memorizing every detail, no matter how trivial, in fractions of a second. A low, wordless sound escapes his throat when he catalogues the tightness around Phil's eyes, the lines of pain etched across his forehead. Phil's eyes open at the noise, and Clint, abject professional that he is, nearly does a double-take, because Phil's eyes soften when he sees Clint.

With hesitant steps, he edges closer to Phil's bedside, ready to leave at a moment's notice, because even as he's settling himself into the chair he can't resist considering if it was all a mistake, that Phil wants someone else. His doubts are confirmed a moment later when a tender smile graces Phil's mouth, and he murmurs, "M'hero."

He'd known this would happen, has prepared for it, because though Clint Barton is indubitably a loud-mouthed smartass, he is _always_ thorough. Even though he'd known it would happen, Clint's heart still falters, sinking. "You want Steve," he mutters, face burning with shame, and stands up. "I'll just- just leave you two alone."

Clint makes as if to leave, but an insistent hand latching on to his wrist stops him. He looks back at him, and if he wasn't Clint Barton he'd think his eyes were playing tricks, because Phil looks, for lack of a better word, _panicked_. "Clint," Phil rasps, a low, gravelly sound, lips slurring around the t, softening it. "You're m'hero."

Clint doesn't realize his knees have given out until he collapses back down to his chair, and he takes a moment to compose himself, to breathe.

When he sees the IV line hooked to Phil's wrist, Clint realizes his mistake. "They've got you on the good stuff, right, boss?" he asks, his smile withered and cracked, hoping Phil hasn't heard the catch in his voice.

Phil scowls, as if only just realizing his predicament, and Clint's disappointment is sharpened by a tiny surge of relief, because this he has been expecting. The disappointment of crushed hopes and met expectations is something he knows how to deal with.

"No." Phil states, the word wreathed in titanium. "No drugs yet," he continues, straining to enunciate the words properly, throat tightening from the effort, and Clint nearly jumps out of his chair when he comprehends that Phil _meant what he said_. "Made them wait. Clint. Saved... so many people, n'you tried... save me."

Clint's eyes burn, because he had tried, he'd done his best and it wasn't enough. He'd taken out the goons manning the weapons, but it wasn't fast enough, he wasn't quick enough, he wasn't _good_ enough-

"Not... your fault."

Clint stiffens, because Phil sounds fond, affectionate, and his eyes are brimming with an emotion Clint tries his best not to put a name to, because it's one thing to have a crush on his handler and quite another entirely to dare hope that it's reciprocated.

When Clint lowers his eyes, trying his best to ignore the emotions reflected back at him, Phil chuckles, the sound raw in his hurt throat. "Clint."

Clint wishes he could prevent himself from looking back to Phil, really, he does, but that voice has saved his life too many times to count, and even when it's weak and broken, an order is an order.

Phil's smile is shaky, but the corners of his eyes are crinkling, and just like that, Clint breaks. He chokes out a half-breath, half-sob, and suddenly Phil's hand is in his, gripping tightly, fingers intertwining. "So... strong, today," Phil murmurs. "So brave."

His smile turns shy at Clint's indrawn breath, when he finally realizes what Phil is trying to say, but Phil still insists on explaining, "M'hero," again, almost reverent.

Clint blinks away the tears blurring his vision, and Phil is still smiling, but it's with an undercurrent of pain. "I think you can give him the meds now," someone ventures from behind Clint, and when Phil gives a sharp nod, acquiescing, Clint turns to find Steve standing there with a sheepish grin, the tips of his ears pink.

When Phil's hand slackens in his, and he turns to Clint, fixing him with wide, rapt eyes, and breathes, "Always," Clint can't help the tearful smile that blooms on his face. Clint trusts Phil more than he trusts himself, and if Phil says that Clint is his hero, Clint isn't going to second-guess his decision.

Clint hears soft footsteps heading towards the door, and out of his peripheral vision, he sees Steve lean against it, only moments before an unmistakeable shock of dark hair appears at the window, accompanied by loud thumping.

Relieved that Steve has taken care of the inevitable Tony-splosion, Clint quickly presses a gentle kiss to Phil's hand, and is rewarded with an awestruck, adoring grin before Phil's eyes close and he drifts off to medically-induced sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I read msraven's amazing "My Hero" a while back and couldn't help writing this. I regret nothing.  
> Natasha calls Clint Птичка ( **pteech** -ka), meaning "little bird".


End file.
